


The "Don't Date Patients" Policy

by NatTheSongbird



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Army AU, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Nik is a surgeon, anyway, brief discussion of injury, laurent is in this for..... like two seconds, teen rating is for very mild language a couple of times, this is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17163935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatTheSongbird/pseuds/NatTheSongbird
Summary: “Don’t recognize me, huh?” he asked. “My hair was shorter then, and I didn’t have this,” he said, gesturing to a scar on his face that ran from his left temple to the top of his left cheek. “Or maybe you don’t recognize me because I came here willingly and conscious. I never was a very good patient for you, doc.”The realization hit Nikandros like a freight train. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Auguste DeVere.”Auguste laughed. “The one and only.”





	The "Don't Date Patients" Policy

**Author's Note:**

> so I made a bet with a friend that if I didn't finish and post this by the end of the day today she was going to publically roast me on Instagram and the only thing stronger than my writer's block is my anxiety so here you go have more Nik/Auguste

“Your last appointment just checked in,” a nurse said, popping her head into Nikandros’s office. “Something about a follow-up or a second opinion on a procedure?”

“Thanks, Lexia,” Nikandros said as he searched through his notes, trying to find the name of the patient. “Did you get a history?”

“Of course,” she said. “You may need to go over it again, though, he was a little tight-lipped for the gals at the nurses’ station. Nice guy, though. Very handsome. He looks like Prince Charming.”

Nikandros laughed. “Are you flirting with a patient again?”

“He isn’t an official patient yet,” she said, laughing, “And if you won’t date a patient, someone should.”

Nikandros rolled his eyes. The rule about not dating a patient when you were a surgeon wasn’t a hard and fast rule of the hospital, but it was a good way to keep your reputation clean. Operations could go wrong, and they tended to be even worse if you knew the patient too well. Familiarity made it impossible to be objective in the operating room. That didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize an attractive patient when it happened. It would be impossible not to with his team turning to each other to gossip every chance they got.

“You can send him to exam room one and then go home,” Nikandros told her. “I know it’s been a long week. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Thanks, Nikandros,” she said, already walking down the hall. She was whistling cheerfully as she walked, the sound echoing off the linoleum floors. Nikandros turned his attention back to his messy desk. Somewhere, Lexia had dropped off a list of names this morning of all the people he was supposed to see today. This patient, whoever it was, would be the last name on the list if he could just  _ find _ the damn thing. 

After a few fruitless minutes of searching, Nikandros gave up. He didn’t want to keep the guy waiting, and it would be much easier to simply ask him for his name than to sort through the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk. He stood, shrugging into his white coat, and walked down the hall to exam room one. The door was closed and the chart had been left hanging on the outside. He picked it up without looking at it and opened the door. 

“Sorry if you had to wait at all,” he said, turning and pulling the door closed behind him. “I’m—”

“Doctor Nikandros Sicyon, head of surgery at this hospital for almost five years now, served four years overseas as a doctor with the army,” the patient said, causing Nikandros to turn around in surprise. “The gentlest hands on any surgeon I’ve ever met. I remember you."

Sitting on the examination table in the middle of the room was a man not much older than Nikandros himself. He was blond and broad-shouldered, sitting up ramrod straight with the kind of posture that reminded Nikandros of his time with the military. Nikandros stared at his face, trying to figure out who this was. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, the man smiled. It was a crooked, almost mischievous sort of smile, like he and the universe were in on some big prank. His eyes held the same kind of light, brilliant and blue and striking. 

“Don’t recognize me, huh?” he asked. “My hair was shorter then, and I didn’t have this,” he said, gesturing to a scar on his face that ran from his left temple to the top of his left cheek. “Or maybe you don’t recognize me because I came here willingly and conscious. I never was a very good patient for you, doc.”

The realization hit Nikandros like a freight train. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Auguste DeVere.”

Auguste laughed. “The one and only.”

Looking closer, Nikandros could see the traces of the young man he had known. His hair was longer, beginning to grow out of its army cut, and there was a scar on his face he had not had when Nikandros had been the doctor with his unit, but his eyes were the same and his face was familiar. Auguste had been one of the corporals he had worked with, stationed overseas with the reconnaissance and search-and-rescue units. His team was impeccable and good at their jobs, but they were the most likely to end up in Nikandros’s care. Auguste was the worst of all of them. He was a terrible patient; he would get up too soon and ignore any orders to rest, insistent on getting back in the field with his men. Every time he had been injured, the two of them had argued. Eventually, Nikandros had realized that he actually liked Auguste, despite everything. He was quick with a joke and prioritized his men’s lives over all else. He was one of the only things Nikandros had missed about his time in the service, but after all this time, he had nearly forgotten.

Nikandros pulled the chair out from the small table near the corner of the room and sat. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you since I left the army… god, almost seven years ago now.”

Auguste shrugged. “I’ve…  had my ups and downs,” he said. “I just left the service myself last month.”

Nikandros didn’t quite know what to say. For himself, that statement would’ve called for congratulations, but he knew that Auguste had truly cared for the men under his command and had loved many of the parts of his time in service. 

“Why did you leave?” he asked instead, tone light. 

“Honorably discharged,” he said, the humor leaving his expression. “Injured in the line of duty and no longer fit to serve.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Nikandros said. “Is that injury why you came here?”

Auguste nodded. “I looked you up when I got back,” he said. “I knew you had been hoping to practice civilian medicine, and you were the best surgeon we ever had.”

“What happened?”

“It’s my shoulder,” he said, “And it would be easier to show you.”

Nikandros sat back and nodded, eyes falling to the chart in his lap while Auguste undid the buttons on his shirt and shrugged it off. He glanced up when Auguste cleared his throat quietly and felt himself gasp. 

Auguste’s right shoulder was an ugly mess of scar tissue, raised and angry and newly healed. The injury couldn’t have been more than a few months old. He stood and stepped to the side of the examination table, looking closer. Auguste looked straight ahead, avoiding his eyes. 

“Is this…”

“Shrapnel,” Auguste confirmed. “We were a little too close when it went off. We were coming back from a search-and-rescue assignment… some kids from a local school that had been kidnapped. I was separated from my team and knocked unconscious in enemy territory. I woke up in a hostile building with no idea where I was.” His voice was detached and even, sounding just like a soldier giving a report. Nikandros’s heart ached. “It took them almost two months to find me.”

Nikandros was speechless, unsure how to respond. He laid a gentle hand on Auguste’s ruined shoulder. Auguste looked at him and offered a half-smile. 

“The doctor we had after you was an absolute hack,” he said. “They operated on my shoulder with local anaesthetic—”

“They didn’t knock you out?” Nikandros asked incredulously. “For a major operation?”

“Something about resource conservation and needing the good stuff for anyone having their chest sliced open,” Auguste said with a wry smile. “It didn't hurt too bad, but I don’t think he liked me much.”

“A doctor, not liking you? I wonder why.”

Auguste laughed. “You loved me, doc, don’t even start. I was the most interesting thing that ever happened to your army practice.”

“Whatever you say, soldier,” Nikandros said, feeling the familiar retort roll off his tongue. It tasted like rations and dirt in his bedroll and working under the sun, like being twenty and watching Auguste drill with his team in the mornings, like lingering too long on the dressings of the wound he knew had scarred on Auguste’s stomach. He shook his head slightly. All of that was a lifetime ago and did not belong here with his white coat and his personal office. The man on his table was from a very different piece of his life that was better left behind him.

“It’s staff sergeant now, actually,” Auguste replied. “Being a prisoner of war and not dying gets a guy promoted, apparently.”

“Being a good man and a good leader gets a guy promoted,” he corrected gently. “You were both. Not dying probably gets you some pity points for your command recommendation, though.” 

Auguste laughed again. Nikandros felt himself smile in return.

“Either way,” he said, “When I got back, they put me in surgery and ruined my shoulder. I’ve got a pretty limited range of motion and it aches like a bitch. Doc over there said there was nothing else they could do, but I wanted to hear it from you before I accept that.”

Nikandros raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Like I said,” Auguste said, clearing his throat again. He was slightly flushed. “You were the best. Gentlest hands of any surgeon I’ve ever met. I trust the other guy as far as I can throw him, but your word is good.” 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he said, trying to ignore the traitorous fluttering of his heart. He felt like he was in his early twenties again, heart racing because a handsome patient had winked at him and called him “Nik” with a familiarity that eased his homesickness. 

“Skip the false modesty, doc, you don’t get to be head of surgery at a big hospital by not knowing how to do your job,” Auguste said. His voice was warm. It felt like the sun was shining under Nikandros’s hand where it still rested on his shoulder. “You’ve done alright for yourself.”

Nikandros didn’t reply. Instead, he let himself fall into a clinical sort of curiosity, examining the shoulder and what range of motion he had left, taking note of where the movement began to make Auguste grimace and wince. 

After several silent moments that felt like hours, Nikandros straightened and picked up the chart again, pretending not to stare as Auguste shrugged back into his shirt and began buttoning it. 

Lexia had been right. He was very good-looking.

“I might be able to help,” Nikandros said. “But I doubt you’ll ever get your full range of motion back.”

“I’m right-handed and can’t use my right arm, I’ll take any improvement,” Auguste said earnestly.

“If you can come in some time next week, we’ll do some imaging so I can get a better idea of what happened to the cartilage and structure of the joint,” he said. “From there, we can talk about reconstructive surgery.”

“Thanks, Nik,” Auguste said. He looked relieved, as though a weight had been lifted. “And the surgery, it’ll be you?”

“If that’s what you want, yes.”

“Just like old times,” Auguste said with a grin.

“God, I hope not,” Nikandros replied. “You were getting shot at and it was far too hot. Plus, you were a terrible patient and I’m hoping you grew out of that.”

Auguste laughed, happy and loud. Nikandros didn’t bother trying to stop the smile that crept across his face in reply. 

“You have too much faith in me,” Auguste said. “I grew out of  _ nothing _ .”

Nikandros rolled his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said. “On your way out, stop at the receptionist’s desk and tell them you need another appointment with me next week.”

Auguste slid off the examination table, standing in front of Nikandros. With a start, he remembered that he was almost two inches taller than Auguste was. He smiled warmly, extending his hand for Nikandros to take.

“Thank you, Nikandros,” he said. “Really.”  

Nikandros was fairly certain he said “you’re welcome” or “it was nice to see you again” as Auguste smiled at him and walked out of the examination room. His instincts had likely allowed him to finish the conversation, but he wasn’t sure. It was hard to be sure what he had said while looking into Auguste’s eyes. They were open and honest and beautiful, as soft around the edges as the rest of his expression. It was distracting, quite frankly. When he pulled himself together, he was alone in the exam room. 

A sudden thought struck him. He had been insisting to himself that Auguste belonged firmly in the past chapter of his life, and perhaps that was true, but this was not the same man he had left behind seven years ago. He was moving on, too. Perhaps that meant there was room in this new chapter for an old friend. He found himself hurrying down the hallway, hoping to catch him while he was still in the waiting room. 

When he turned the corner, Auguste was nearly at the door, walking beside a shorter blond. 

“Auguste!” he called. 

They both turned at the door. The other blond, who Nikandros didn’t know, raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. Nikandros fought back the sudden and ridiculous urge to straighten his coat or fix his hair under that stare. He made a comment under his breath to Auguste, who choked back a laugh and ruffled the other man’s hair as he walked back toward Nikandros.

“Did I forget something?” Auguste asked.

“No,” Nikandros said, “I did. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee with me sometime. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, I thought it might be nice to… catch up.”

Auguste’s lips quirked into a smile. “Are you asking me out?”

“No,” said Nikandros. “Actually, yes. Maybe. If you’d like. We can just be old friends getting coffee, or…”

“Or?”

“Or we can be old friends getting coffee because I was secretly crazy about you when I was twenty and you’re the only thing I missed when I left the army,” Nikandros said in a rush, his heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing. He thought, vaguely, that he might pass out. 

Auguste smiled and pinned Nikandros to the spot with his eyes again, his gaze warm and pleased. 

“I’m free Tuesday,” he replied, still smiling. “I can meet you here at this time?”

“There’s a place down the street,” Nikandros said, hardly able to believe his luck. “It’s a short walk.”

“Perfect,” Auguste said. “Then it’s a date.”

“A date,” Nikandros echoed, tucking his hands into his pockets. Auguste laughed quietly. The man by the door rolled his eyes. 

“Bye, Nik,” Auguste said, taking a step back and turning to head for the door. “See you Tuesday!” he called over his shoulder. 

“Right,” Nikandros said. “Tuesday!”

He wasn’t sure how much longer he stood there, flushed and happy and still feeling a little faint, but he heard himself whistling as he walked back down the hallway to his office. Judging by the looks he got from the ladies at the nurses’ station as he walked past, he was going to be the topic of discussion in their group chat and office gossip for weeks. 

Strangely, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up w prompts and headcanons yo Auguste of Vere is the love of my life


End file.
